punch out the lights | {eden}

e d e n

" pretty hurts
shines a light on whatever's w o r s t. "

She was never given a chance to be a good girl.

She was tossed away from society and treated as a monster so much that she started believing their accusations to be truth. A monster. That was all she was. That was what she was good at being.

Her knuckles were always so sore that it was when they weren't sore that she found it uncomfortable. Her fists were her weapons, and she was damn good with them. She couldn't even begin to think of how many people had figured that out the hard way, and she wouldn't have ever been bother to try. What was in the past needed to stay there. That is what she told herself, but really, she didn't live by that philosophy at all times at all. It was a bit hypocritical, really, swearing she never looked back, but choosing to turn about face just as soon as she was in the shadows where she thought no one could see her just to see how far she had come.

This time, the shadows she hid within were cast by brick walls of a small pub. So many people smoked within it that even the air around it smelled musky and dirty. It was her kind of place. She waited patiently, knowing already exactly what she planned on doing. It was the same thing she always did, despite the orphanage owner's protests, and even threats. In fact, she might have just been kicked out for good if he were ever to find out what she was about to do.

A scrawny boy and his girlfriend walked out, both stumbling and rambling on about their lives and she stepped aside so that they could pass by without getting rewarded a kick in the ass for bumping into her. An older man fumbled with his pockets as he stumbled out. A lady wearing a too-tight dress beckoned others from within as she stood in the doorway. None of them were what she was looking for.

Then she found him. A large man, probably about thirty, obviously with hygiene issues and a one of those attitudes that made people grow annoyed simply by his arrival. He grunted with each step he took like he thought he was some ridiculously tough animal like a bear or a lion, and even when she was polite enough to step aside, he still slammed into her.

She cracked her neck and spun on her heels. "Hey, asshole! I'm standing here." She liked pissing them off before she beat them down, perhaps even more than the actual beating. Her fists were always her primary weapon, but her voice was a close second. He cracked his neck and spun around to look at her. He breathed so hard that she could smell the beer laced in it from two feet away, and his squinty, beady eyes glared at the girl who dared to stand up to him. "You better run on home, dollface. Wouldn't wanna get hurt." He spat, and she smiled. "Wrong," She would be the judge of what she wanted.

"That is exactly what I want."

She charged forward, slamming her left hand into his forehead and bringing her right knee into his gut. He let out a burly, grotesque gurgle, and grabbed her hair, yanking her backwards like a child's doll. Damn, she had actually found a challenge.

Before he could completely get his bearings, she shoved her thumb into his eye hard enough that he was forced to let her go to get it out. Another gurgle, and she was only within inches of him. Stay close, keep close. She was quicker than him, as long as she kept moving, as long as she stepped right, then ducked, left, duck, back, left... He swung hard and made contact with her ear. Even though there weren't any in the sky, she saw stars. She fell to her knees, and he felt the man's hands at her waist, hauling her into the air and tosssing her at the wall. She hit with a grunt, suddenly thinking she may have just bitten off a little more than she could chew.

For a moment, she thought he may have decided to just leave while he was ahead, but she heard his footsteps nearing as she tried to force herself to stand. "I told you, dollface. You should have went home." She kicked him in the knee and he crumpled onto the ground, right next to her. She threw herself on top of him and started punching. Hard. Harder. Until each swing brought out a grunt. He kneed her in the back a few times, but it wasn't enough to stop her. He spat at her, cursed, squeezed her legs until she was sure there would be bruises, but still, she didn't stop. Eventually, he didn't squeeze her anymore, or spit or curse. He didn't move.

She still wouldn't stop. Not just yet.

But she had to.

It was not her own choice. She was hoisted into the air by someone, an unknown figure. Rabid, she hissed. "You wanna be next, big boy? Because if not, I'd suggest you fucking unhand me." Then she saw who had her. Well, not who, exactly, but the precise person didn't matter. The fact that he was wearing a white uniform did.

Fuck.

" p e r f e c t i o n is the disease
of a nation . "